I apologize for not writing sooner. I have been one busy mother. I guess that can happen when your life suddenly turns around in big ways and it fills up with new responsibilities. My new purpose is teaching young men, of course. Never let it be said that Abbie Haffenshaft is a shirker who doesn't take her responsibilities seriously and doesn't finish things. I've just been busy, that's all.
Really busy.
Yesterday was not only a day of great discovery but a day of tremendous disappointment for me. It's not every day that I will encounter a young stud with the stamina Preston possesses and, in the very same afternoon become intimate friends with the biggest, most impressive cock I will likely ever have the good fortune to wrap both of my delicate hands around -- and believe me, it took
both
hands. My life as a teacher picked up steam yesterday.
Still, I didn't get my pussy trimmed. It had been almost two whole days since I had hacked at my once lovely patch of 'pubes.' I've actually studied my appearance down there in the mirror quite a lot since, and I've decided the best way to describe my botched barbering work is to say that it resembles a ragged, worn-out beach umbrella dangling over my pussy. The fringe is frayed and uneven. My lovely red-gold curls droop down like the tattered fringe of a rag. I have been afraid to trim it anymore because I'm convinced Marty will be able to work wonders with it if I just leave him as much real estate to work with as I can.
To get ready for Marty's visit I hurried to the mall to be there when it opened. I found a lovely little miniskirt and saucy little bare-midriff blouse that I thought Marty would appreciate. Then I turned my attention to finding shoes and panties. I hadn't given much thought to my panties until earlier this morning when Liz mentioned her panties had been coming up missing and asked us if we knew anything about it. I wasn't convinced our students were actually stealing our panties. But after imagining how breathtaking my pussy might look when Marty finished with me, I wanted to be seen in the sleekest, sexiest little underthings I could find. After hearing how excited and positively thrilled Liz and Lena (alias 'The Silver Fox') both were with their new appearance, I could hardly wait for my turn under Marty's razor.
The panties that caught my eye in the lingerie shop were cut a bit differently from any I had ever owned. Now, I have never been fond of wearing those billowing 'granny-pants', but I have also never felt comfortable in those skimpy little thong things made of a scrap of lace and some elastic cord. The damned things always manage to get bunched and twisted up between my legs and they never seem to cover any of the important parts. I have never felt comfortable with little bits of string and twisted lace bunched up between the lips of my pussy. They just didn't make me feel sexy.
The little panties I found were more substantial than a thong, but my grandmother would still have cringed at the very idea of wearing something this wicked. The panties had an actual waistband (of sorts) and not some flimsy elastic cord. The waistband was approximately a half-inch wide and made of stretchy elastic lace. I liked the waistband, but I loved the way these panties came together in the middle. The waistband was designed to sweep up high over the sharp swell of my hips and then swoop down devilishly low across my belly to form a deep 'V.' I wasn't at all sure as I held them up that the tiny lace front panel would even cover the crest of my sweet, pink little opening. On the backside, where the two sides of the lace band joined together, I guessed would meet somewhere deep between the cheeks of my ass. These panties even
felt
hot to the touch. I snatched up two pairs in black and two pairs in red and hurried to the cash register.
I handed the young clerk the panties and my card and fidgeted while she went to work.
She looked my purchase over, glanced up at me, then down across the counter at my jeans-clad lower half and observed, "You've picked out some great badonkadonk panties but you're not wearin' the right kind of jeans to make the most of them."
She continued her work at the register for a moment and then added, "I'll just bet you've got a fine badonkadonk."
As she finished ringing my panties up, she added, "They've got some
fine
hip-hugger jeans at the shop across the way if you're interested. It would be a shame to waste these lovely panties by hiding them." She nodded to the shop behind me as she said this.
Badonkadonk? What on earth is a badonkadonk, I wondered? I was in such a hurry I decided there wasn't enough time to get the lowdown on badonkadonks. I certainly wasn't about go shopping for jeans now. The word
badonkadonk
had a gritty, suggestive sound to it, though. I liked the rough sound it made as it tumbled out of her mouth. I just had to find out what it meant. Expanding my vocabulary would have to wait, though. I was on a tight schedule here and I decided Marty might know what a badonkadonk was. I would ask him later.
Shoes -- hot, sexy high heel shoes were next on my to-do list. I marched as fast as I could to the little shoe store Liz had recommended. I wanted a pair of "knock-me-down-and-fuck-me-pumps" to look my best for Marty this afternoon. My time was getting tighter now but I figured if the store had the sort of selection Liz described it wouldn't take long to find a pair that could land me flat on my back with a certain handsome young man between my legs. The front window of the store looked promising.
"Do you have any black pumps to go with this skirt? Something maybe like that pair in the window with the four-inch heels?" I asked the nice young man at the register, pulling the little skirt out of the bag for him to see.
"Sure!" he told me with a smile, "In fact, if I'm a good judge of shoe sizes I'll bet we have that very shoe in your size."
"Sorry, but I'm kind of in a hurry," I explained, "Can we do this in just a few minutes?"
The salesman was young and rather cute. I suppose my newly awakened interest in the opposite sex had something to do with my even noticing how cute he was. Just the same he was cute -- and I also couldn't help but notice he had a nice tight behind as he scurried off to the backroom for my shoes.
"Let' see how these fit," he said as he sat down in front of me and drew the lid off the box.
He paused a moment, glanced at my feet and added, "But first, state health code requires that you wear socks to try on shoes. Let me get a pair for you to put on."
I had been in a hurry this morning. I pulled on a pair of nice snug jeans and tennis shoes. I had hoped to dash home, make myself
extremely
presentable in these new clothes, fix a sandwich for Marty and I and still have a couple of minutes to spare. Putting on socks would have slowed me down.
When he returned, he settled onto the stool in front of me, picked up my foot and removed my right shoe. Before I knew what was happening, he lifted my bare foot and began to slip it into the sock he was holding. I had never experienced this kind of service in a shoe store before.
"My name is Adam, by the way, ma'am," he told me with a smile as he gently eased the sock on my foot.
Adam's hands were very warm, very gentle and very comforting. It's difficult not to warm up to a young man who is cuddling and caressing your foot as he smiles up at you.
"My name is Abbie, Adam, and goodness, but you have wonderful hands," I told him, nodding down to the hand cradling my heel as he smoothed the little sock lovingly over my toes.
"Why, thank you. I want to make you feel as comfortable as I can," he told me.
He moved to my left foot. He was every bit as considerate with it. He seemed to cradle my foot and my ankle for a bit longer this time, but I didn't mind. I was looking forward to him slipping my foot into those sexy shoes he was unwrapping.
I had been so distracted by Adam's caresses that I hadn't noticed the socks he put on my feet. I had expected them to be run-of-the-mill, cheap cotton anklets. Nothing special. Instead, my feet were clad in those cute white anklets with the lacy cuffs that young girls wear. Even without shoes on my feet I decided I liked the look of them. I suspect Adam liked them too. He grinned and continued to stare at them even as he unwrapped the shoes.
Adam took his time slipping my feet into these shoes. I may have been in a hurry but he was so considerate, almost doting over my feet that I didn't mind. I even let him caress my calves.
"How do those feel?" he asked.
His question snapped me out of a really lovely little fantasy involving Adam and me. In my fantasy I was already flat on my back, Adam settled in comfortably between my legs and my new shoes were raised high in the air, the spikes of both heels aimed squarely at the ceiling. Adam was much cuter with his face so close to mine and my new shoes were sexy hot on my feet, especially with those cute little anklets.
I snapped out of the daydream, looked my feet and the shoes over and said, "Let me take a few steps and see what they look like."
I rose then and strolled to the wall to stand in front of the mirror and admire them. Yes, I thought, I was most definitely going to be knocked down and fucked in these shoes. I turned after a long moment or two and strutted my way back to where Adam stood admiring me.
"I'll take them!" I snapped without hesitation. After a split-second to consider, I added, "And I'll wear them home. Just box up my old tennis shoes."
As Adam rang up my shoes. I offered to pay for the anklets too but he waved me off. "They come as a part of trying on the shoes," he explained, "Besides, you look awfully hot in them, Missy! You look special."
It felt good to be called Missy. The name made me feel almost like a little girl. I suspected Adam had that in mind when he called me Missy. I may be forty-two but it is nice to have young men treat me like a youngster once in awhile. It did make me feel special.
"Sorry I'm in such a hurry or I'd try on another pair of shoes. You have just the sort of shoes I've been looking for," then I added, "Maybe I can come back in a couple of days."
"Oh, I hope you do!" he told me with an almost wicked gleam in his eye.
"What time do you open Thursday morning?" I asked.
"Ten o'clock - but since you're a special customer, I could open a little early for you."
